Watch my back and light my way (my traveling star, my traveling star).
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Watch over all of those born St. Christopher's Day (old road dog, young runaway).
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They hunger for home but they cannot stay,
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they wait by the door, they stand and they stare.
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They're already out of there, they're already out of there.
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My daddy used to ride the rails (so they say, so they say).
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Soft as smoke and as tough as nails (Boxcar Jones, old walking man).
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Coming back home was like going to jail.
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The sheets and the blankets and babies and all,
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no, he never did come back home, never that I recall.
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Never mind the wind, never mind the rain, never mind the road leading home again.
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Never asking why, never knowing when, every now and then, there he goes again.
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She had a cat and a dog named Blue (my traveling star, my traveling star).
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A big old stove and a fireplace, too (old road dog, young runaway).
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She told me loved me like it was true.
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I knew I should stay, I knew I would go.
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Run, run, run away. Run, run, run away, boy.
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Run before the wind, run before the rain, over yonder hill, just around the bend.
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Never knowing why, never knowing when, every now and then, there you go again.
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Tie me up and hold me down (oh, my traveling star).
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Bury my feet down in the ground (oh, old road dog).
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Claim my name from the lost and found and let me believe this is where I belong.
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Shame on me for sure for one more highway song.
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My traveling star, my traveling star...
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My Traveling Star
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| James Taylor |
